the unprofessional who would learn his lesson among the
thronged standpipes of the city.

While the Englishman was preparing in his mind a scathing rebuke for an
erring municipality that he knew of, a camel swung across the sands, its
driver's jaw and brow bound mummy-fashion to guard against the dust. The
man was evidently a stranger to the place, for he pulled up and asked
the Englishman where the drinking-troughs were. He was a gentleman and
bore very patiently with the Englishman's absurd ignorance of his
dialect. He had come from some village, with an unpronounceable name,
thirty _kos_ away, to see his brother's son, who was sick in the big
Hospital. While the camel was drinking the man talked, lying back along
his mount. He knew nothing of Jeypore, except the names of certain
Englishmen in it, the men who, he said, had made the Waterworks and
built the Hospital for his brother's son's comfort.

And this is the curious feature of Jeypore; though happily the city is
not unique in its peculiarity. When the late Maharaja ascended the
throne, more than fifty years ago, it was his royal will and pleasure
that Jeypore should advance. Whether he was prompted by love for his
subjects, desire for praise, or the magnificent vanity with which Jey
Singh must have been so largely dowered, are questions that concern
nobody. In the latter years of his reign, he was supplied with
Englishmen who made the State their fatherland, and identified
themselves with its progress as only Englishmen can. Behind them stood
the Maharaja ready to spend money with a lavishness that no Supreme
Government would dream of; and it would not be too much to say that they
together made the State what it is. When Ram Singh died, Madho Singh,
his successor, a conservative Hindu, forbore to interfere in any way
with the work that was going forward. It is said in the city that he
does not overburden himself with the cares of State, the driving power
being mainly in the hands of a Bengali, who has everything but the name
of Minister. Nor do the Englishmen, it is said in the city, mix
themselves with the business of government; their business being wholly
executive.

They can, according to the voice of the city, do what they please, and
the voice of the city--not in the main roads, but in the little
side-alleys where the stall-less bull blocks the path--attests how well
their pleasure has suited the pleasure of the people. In truth, to men
of action few t